


Smoke Rings

by CoffinWeaver (politely_ironic)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, its a big deal, miller is dumb and gay, they kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6063550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politely_ironic/pseuds/CoffinWeaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miller is not one to get stoned often. Sure, it’s cool occasionally, when he’s got some extra cash, or when someone offers, but it’s not something he can do more than casually. But if he does smoke weed, and he does, the first person he calls is Jasper Jordan. The second is, well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Rings

Today is the type of day where it is, pragmatic to do the deed. He has a car, he’s got sixty bucks on him, and he’s free all afternoon. Indeed, it is the optimal day to lay around and do nothing. He texts Jasper a simple,  
“Hey, wanna hang out?” which is an offer Jasper can’t refuse.

Except, he can. An unforeseen possibility. Miller is distraught.  
“sorry out w/ the gf cant rn” He did not consider that Jasper might actually have a social life. He didn’t a couple of weeks ago, and Miller’s not really a fan of change. He sets his phone down, and stares at the ceiling of his car. Jasper is the only dealer he knows and trusts. It will not be the end of the world to simply change his plans, but he really does like the idea. His phone buzzes, “just hit monty up” Jasper advises. Miller hates that advice.  
“Are you positive you can’t get away?” He tries again, hoping his anguish is apparent.  
“100% but montys free” Jasper is totally unhelpful in every way, and Miller also hates him, along with his advice.  
“also u should stop texting like ur writing an essay dude” Miller definitely hates him. 

“Jasper said you wanted to chill” is a text he receives, maybe five minutes later. The contact name is “Green”.  
“Yeah, I do.” He texts back too fast. He doesn't want to seem eager or anything. The chat history is a brief series of Monty talking at Miller, who responds curtly, but always responds. He wouldn’t call them friends, but he would also not call them not friends. They’re acquaintances. They’ve also never been alone together, and that is totally on purpose.  
“Pick me up y/y” Monty sends a picture of himself on the swingset at his house. Miller accepts defeat.  
It's not that he hates Monty, Miller thinks as he watches Monty sidelong, as he slides into the passenger seat. It’s just. There’s something about him. He can’t quite articulate what it is he feels. He drives them to a mostly empty park, shrouded by trees on three sides, still trying to think of what it is. They keep up casual conversation, which is easier than Miller wants it to be. It’s definitely not that he doesn’t like him, more that he likes him too much. He watches Monty roll a joint, quicker than he’s ever seen anyone do it. He’s got thin fingers, quick and nimble, and Miller is a little fascinated with it. Monty hands it to him without looking up, rolling another with ease.  
“This stuff is pretty strong, if I do say so myself. I call it the Mountain Man, because it makes you feel like you’re in the clouds.”  
“The last time I smoked with Jasper he called it dank as fuck, man.” Miller says, a little hoarse. He pulls a lighter from his jean pocket and watches the end of the joint burn bright orange. The paper crackles as he takes his first hit. Monty looks over and grins, and it’s practically luminous, even though he’s not high yet. Miller holds his breath for a second without even meaning to, and exhales a cloud of smoke. 

Miller’s movements feel slow, and so does his brain, like he’s walking through molasses, but in his head.  
“Y’know, sometimes I wonder if trees are better off than people. Like, all trees have to do is photosynthesize. What else is there to do? Nothing. I feel like it’d be a really simple existence, do you feel me?” Monty is laying on the slowly drying grass. Miller sits beside him, pulling up dandelions. He doesn’t remember when they got here. It’s just slightly autumn, a suggestion of change in the air.  
“Yeah. I guess.”  
“I think you’re a tree, Nate.” Miller looks at him, really examines his face for the first time. Monty has really nice cheekbones, he notes, and his eyes are half-lidded. They’re sitting in the sunlight, which is in that perfect place, when it’s not too blinding, but is still warm. It makes Miller’s skin feel more like he owns it.  
“Why?” he mutters, not really to Monty, but not really to himself either.  
“Because I think you photosynthesize. You’re like an oak tree. Like, just really sturdy and like, present I guess.” Miller smiles slow, like his face needs to get used to the shape.  
“I guess. I don’t know a lot about trees.” That feels like he’s just shutting down conversation entirely, so he adds, “I like weeping willows.”  
“Weeping willows sounds like a good band name.” Monty says, thoughtfully  
“Maybe. It just makes me think of Willow Smith crying.”  
“Then why do you like them?”  
“They’re just these huge massive trees in like swamps, and their leaves sag so much like they just- dip under the water and it’s like you could probably live right under there and no one would find you.” Miller shrugs, face carefully blank.  
“That’d get lonely, wouldn’t it?” Monty asks, considering him.  
“Not really. You’d have the tree. And you could find people when you want them. But not when you don’t.”  
“Sounds to me like you want to be like, a hermit.”  
“Maybe. A hermit with a +1.” Monty laughs, and it’s beautiful. Miller wants to hold it in his hands. He wants to do a lot of things, with Monty actually. He’s not sure what exactly makes him so nervous about it, though. No one else makes him this on edge, like the suspense is killing him. But he doesn’t know what he’s anticipating, or trying to anticipate.  
“Who would you take with you?” Monty asks, rising a little on his elbows. The ground is solid underneath them, but Miller feels like he could just sink into earth.  
“I don’t know. Someone who talks sometimes but not all the time,” Monty nods, sagely.  
“I got you.”  
“Yeah. You do,” Miller mutters, and Monty sits up a little more, legs splayed out in front of him.  
“Dude is it cool if I kiss you?” Monty asks like it’s the easiest thing ever, not like Miller has spent _so much time_ just thinking about how much he **wants** -  
“If you want to,” Miller says, and Monty beams at him, and it's almost unbearably sweet. 

Monty’s hands are gentle on the sides of his face, and his mouth is kind. Miller’s eyes flutter closed, as he soaks up the sensory detail. Everything's better when high, Miller decides, especially kissing. He can tell that Monty hasn’t really done this sort of thing, but he’s relaxed and open and Miller likes it so much he might go insane. Time feels arbitrary, like maybe they’ve been kissing for hours, or seconds, when they part. Well, Monty does and Miller follows him, hand braced on Monty’s thigh.  
“Cool,” Monty breathes, and Miller has to agree.  
“Cool.”  
“I didn’t think it would be like that,” Monty stares at him, wonder in his eyes.  
“I know, I’m great.”  
“Yeah you are,” and then they’re kissing again, which Miller is having a hard time processing. Not that he minds. He’s not even high anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever head smoke rings specifically by the casa loma orchestra thats the inspiration for the title b/c i was listening to it on repeat when i wrote this so it actually has nothing to do with smoke rings but y'know. also idk if this is good or not but i also dont want to look at it anymore so like here you go


End file.
